


Group Therapy

by deklava



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Gags, Handcuffs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Vibrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been a virgin for too long, and it's finally showing. John, Lestrade, and Mycroft decide to do an intervention before England falls....</p>
<p> <i>Sherlock flushed. He mumbled something behind his brother’s palm.</i></p>
<p> <i>“Isn’t it time you abandoned this pretense of the body being just transport? See what it’s doing to your brain.”</i></p>
<p> <i>Mycroft lowered his hand, but kept a firm grip on Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective wiped his mouth.</i></p>
<p> <i>“I just fail to see the attraction that sex holds for so many idiots. It’s messy-” </i></p>
<p> <i>John was indignant. “So says the bloke who searched for Jennifer Wilson’s case in a skip full of rubbish.”</i></p>
<p> <i>Sherlock glared. “It can only appeal to those who think with their penis.”</i></p>
<p>  <i>“Yeah?” Lestrade countered. His zip was still undone, but he no longer cared. “And how would you know?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookieswillcrumble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookieswillcrumble/gifts).



> A gift for the lovely **cookieswillcrumble** , who was my winning bidder in the AO3 Fan Fic Auction.
> 
> Beta: **chasingriver** , who refuses to let me go straight ;)

“Do you reckon he knows?” Lestrade murmured against John’s neck.

“Doubt it, somehow,” John responded as he reached into the DI’s trousers, which were unzipped and gaping open. “He could never imagine us here at Baker Street… doing this.”

John lowered his head. The living room was in darkness, but the telly threw off enough light for him to see what he was doing. Lestrade gasped and gripped the sofa cushions when he felt hot breath and a warm, wet mouth on his cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed.

John stopped in his task long enough to say, “Absolutely. If there’s time.” Then he continued, plunging Lestrade back into ecstasy. When John’s tongue slid across the sensitive spot beneath the glans, the DI dug his fingers into the other man’s short blond hair.

_Here we are_ , he thought, _pants and trousers round our ankles like a pair of college yobs,horny as fuck for Sherlock Holmes but getting off with each other._

Surely stranger things had happened, although he couldn’t think of anything. And he’d seen a lot.

******

They’d been doing this for nearly a month now, ever since a few pints at the pub developed into a graphic discussion of Sherlock’s arse and what ought to be done to it.

“He’s an arrogant sod because he’s never been laid,” Lestrade had claimed, slamming his pint down and turning heads. “I swear to God, John, a stiff cock up the gary would do wonders for his disposition.”

John chuckled. “Whose cock then, Greg?”

“Mine.”

“Never gonna happen.” John signalled to the bartender for another round. “No offence, Greg, but Sherlock isn’t going to cash in his V-card with you or anyone else. God knows I’ve tried. But I do know someone else who could use your cock right about now.”

“Yeah? Who?”

John leaned in and told him. Half an hour later Lestrade was back at his flat, balls-deep in John’s arse, grunting and sweating and fucking him so hard that the bed nearly collapsed. Afterward, they wanted to tell Sherlock what he was missing, but knew that the icy detective would never miss something whose existence he pointedly ignored.

******

Lestrade was still spraying John’s face and throat when the door opened, throwing light into the room. The two men sprang apart, hearts hammering. John wiped his face with the back of his hand while Lestrade hauled up his trousers.

Sherlock stood in the doorway, looking gobsmacked. He kept opening and closing his mouth like a marionette, clearly trying to think of the right words to express his shock. In contrast, Mycroft, who stood behind him, seemed amused.

“Don’t be alarmed, Sherlock,” the elder Holmes chided. “It’s only sex.”

Sherlock found his voice. “Alarmed? I'm APPALLED!” The look he gave John and Lestrade was pure disgust. “Couldn’t you both have gone to Lestrade’s instead of behaving like rutting animals on the sofa where I do my thinking? I-”

Before he could say more, Mycroft’s hand closed over his mouth. Sherlock’s eyes widened and he began to struggle, but his brother’s silky voice in his ear stilled him.

“I do think that celibacy has taken the edge off of your deductive skills, little brother. I knew what John and Gregory were up to the moment we came through the front door.”

While he spoke, Mycroft’s eyes shifted to the two flushed men, who were managing to look surprised and mortified at the same time.

“The mat was pushed against the wall, at an angle that suggested a romantic fumble. As we ascended the stairs, I immediately noticed another clue: a button from a shirt I recognised as John’s, with the torn thread indicating that it had been pulled off in a fit of rage or passion. There was also the condom dropped on the landing. Rather obvious, don’t you think? Yet you missed _everything_.”

Sherlock flushed. He mumbled something behind his brother’s palm.

“Isn’t it time you abandoned this pretense of the body being just transport? See what it’s doing to your brain.”

Mycroft lowered his hand, but kept a firm grip on Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective wiped his mouth.

“I just fail to see the attraction that sex holds for so many idiots. It’s messy-”

John was indignant. “So says the bloke who searched for Jennifer Wilson’s case in a skip full of rubbish.”

Sherlock glared. “It can only appeal to those who think with their penis.”

“Yeah?” Lestrade countered. His zip was still undone, but he no longer cared. “And how would you know?”

“I don’t _need_ to know. I can deduce the sensations by logic-”

John let himself think with his penis, and lunged. He grabbed Sherlock by the scarf and pulled the taller man toward him. Before Sherlock could protest or punch him, John pressed his palm against his flatmate’s crotch and massaged the soft flesh, grinning when it hardened in his grasp.

“What do you deduce from _this_?”

The surprised groan that erupted from Sherlock’s mouth made John so hard that his tight jeans tortured him. Even Lestrade, who’d just come, felt a stirring in his groin that heralded another erection.

Mycroft pulled Sherlock’s wrists slowly behind his back. The restraint wasn’t necessary, but the elder Holmes seemed to take pleasure in the casual yet forceful act. “Not the same as doing it to yourself, is it, dear brother?” he queried before pressing a kiss to the younger man’s neck. Sherlock whimpered and let his head fall against his brother’s shoulder.

As a policeman, Lestrade knew that incest was illegal in Britain, and even if it weren’t, the mere concept repelled many. But the decidedly non-platonic interplay between the attractive and intimidating Holmes brothers went straight to his gut. He licked his palm, which tasted of sweat and John’s hair product, and began stroking himself.

John’s immediate reaction to the fraternal foreplay was amazement: his jaw dropped and the hand on Sherlock’s crotch went still. When both brothers stared at him reproachfully, he stuttered, “Sorry” and resumed his ministrations.

“Do you object to my participation, John?” Mycroft sounded pleasant enough as his hand roamed over his brother’s shirt, teasing the hard nipples that poked against the fabric. But there was no mistaking the underlying message: _If you do, there’s the door_.

John found his voice. “No,” he replied honestly. “Just surprised is all. I never expected this. _Any_ of it.”

“Shut up and keep touching me, John,” Sherlock hissed. “Your chatter is distracting and annoying.”

“Still can’t help being a twat, can you? Even when someone’s bringing you off.”  Licking his lips, John undid the other man’s zip, reached inside, and stroked that hardening cock more firmly. The cotton fabric of Sherlock’s pants grew wet, slicking the way. “Let’s see whether or not your attitude softens the harder you get, eh?”

Lestrade approached, cock still in hand. “Your charming manners aside, John and I have fancied you for awhile. I don’t think you realise what a gorgeous fucker you are. Come on-why don’t you let us show you what you’ve been missing?”

Appealing to Sherlock’s vanity demolished any residual resistance like a wrecking ball. He grinned quickly before John’s accelerating strokes made him gasp. “Well, if it will benefit the Work like Mycroft implies….”

Before he could finish, they were on him.


	2. Chapter 2

John and Lestrade weren’t brutal, but they weren’t particularly delicate either. Knowing that Sherlock was impulse-driven and would regard any attempt at seduction with contempt, they tackled his clothes like starving men presented with a feast. He watched them work, cataloguing every touch and sensation for later examination.

Mycroft released his brother and stepped back. Instead of joining in, he strolled over to the chair that John normally occupied and sat, arranging himself so that his suit remained immaculate. If he had an erection like everyone else, his overcoat and controlled demeanour concealed it, but as more of his brother’s white flesh was exposed, his stare turned hungry and he leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees.

“Tired already?” Sherlock chided him.

“No, merely observing for now.” A pause. “You shall find out very soon that I’m far from depleted.”

That arousing threat hung heavily between them until Lestrade worked Sherlock’s shirt off and began tweaking his nipples. The younger Holmes whimpered and broke out in gooseflesh.

“Like that, do you?”

Sherlock’s eyes flew open. “Of course I do,” he snapped. “I thought it was rather obvious, even to you.”

“Really.” Mycroft shook his head. “Must you continue to be childish even now?”

“I’m waiting for the inane commentary to stop so we can get on with it.”

John smirked. “Funny you should say that, because so are we.”

Bending over, he retrieved Sherlock’s scarf from the floor and wrapped it playfully across his flatmate’s mouth. Sherlock yelped in surprise, but didn’t struggle or lash out. When he actually grew harder, John grinned and tied the gag in place.

_Likes it rough. Oh dear God. This is better than I imagined._

“Looks like you enjoy being manhandled,” Lestrade chuckled throatily as he lowered Sherlock’s trousers and pants to mid-thigh. To test that theory further, he smacked the detective’s bobbing penis with his palm, hard enough to sting. Sherlock grunted and stumbled against John, who pulled his arms back and secured his wrists with a pair of handcuffs that had been nicked from Donovan.

The metal bracelets had been lying on the breakfast table all week, near where John did his blogging. He’d never imagined what they’d ultimately be used for. In fact, John still had a hard time imagining that this was all real: his beautiful, arrogant, _virgin_ flatmate standing before him, naked and excited.

“Sherlock,” he breathed, pressing his palms against those magnificent arse cheeks and squeezing. Unable to resist, he fell to his knees, spread Sherlock open, and pressed his lips against the tight pink opening.

The detective moaned and wobbled when John’s tongue poked inside, and would have fallen if Lestrade hadn’t caught him. He pushed backwards, whimpering when John’s fingers tightened on his arse and opened him wider. When teeth nipped at his sensitive flesh followed by soothing wipes from a wet tongue, Sherlock made raw, pleading noises that inflamed the lust of every onlooker- including Mycroft.

“Well,” the elder Holmes said, a faint waver underscoring his voice. “Desperation suits you rather nicely, brother dear.”

“Yeah, nice to hear him beg without understanding what the fuck he’s saying.” Lestrade went to his knees in front of Sherlock, still stroking himself. Extending his neck, he flicked his tongue over the head of the bound detective’s cock, which was oozing precum in a slow, thick trickle. Sherlock arched his back and tried to fuck the older man’s face, but Lestrade planted his palm on that smoothly muscled belly and held him in place.

“I know you hate that word, but _patience_ ,” he admonished. Then he wrapped his lips around Sherlock’s length and leaned forward until his nose touched pubic hair. At the same time, John pressed his face deeper between their squirming victim’s buttocks, teasing the hot and silky inner walls with his tongue.

Sherlock’s eyes rolled back and he let out a scream that might have brought Mrs. Hudson on the run if he hadn’t been gagged. His knees were shaking wildly now and his hips jerked as two sets of hot mouths drove him crazy.

John was impressed by Lestrade’s gag reflex: although Sherlock was now fucking his face like a rutting stallion, the DI took every thick inch without choking or pulling back. It reminded him of Sarah, who could feast on John’s length for hours without gagging or even drooling.

He paused. Thinking about Sarah’s sexual prowess reminded him of the box he kept under his bed upstairs. The contents only came out at lusty times like these, and he was desperate to see how Sherlock would react to some of them.

“A moment,” he said huskily, giving Sherlock’s saliva-wet hole a final kiss and lick before rising. His cock was in agony so he unzipped his jeans and extracted it. “Be right back. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Praying that he didn’t run into Mrs. Hudson during this detour, John stumbled out onto the landing and ran upstairs. It took him less than a minute to retrieve the box , and a great deal longer to get his excitement under control. He wanted to come in Sherlock’s mouth or arse, not all over his own bed like a hormonal schoolboy. Which, oddly enough, he felt like. After giving the base of his cock a painful but necessary squeeze, he hurried back downstairs.

Mycroft hadn’t moved during his absence, but the elder Holmes _was_ avidly watching Lestrade maintain the assault on his brother’s coherency. The DI was running his tongue roughly along the underside of Sherlock’s shaft, and lazily tracing the rim of the detective’s hole with a single fingertip. Every time Sherlock pushed blindly backward, seeking penetration, Lestrade smirked and lowered his finger. Judging from the flush on the young man’s high cheekbones, the teasing was driving him insane.

“Get him on the chair,” John managed as he set the box on the coffee table.

Mycroft said nothing, but his brows rose.

They manoeuvred Sherlock toward the heavy green armchair he often used as a thinking post. After John positioned a cushion for lower back support, they pushed their willing victim into the chair. Lestrade held him by the shoulders while John removed his shoes and socks and pulled his trousers and pants all the way off. When Sherlock squirmed, John grabbed his long white thighs and draped them over the chair arms, creating a hot display that made his cock jump.

“Christ... hold him, Greg.”

Lestrade, who was standing behind the chair, leaned over and grasped Sherlock under the knees. Once he had a firm grip, he pulled those lithe legs toward Sherlock’s chest, leaving the younger man’s arsehole completely exposed. The dusky pucker shone wetly from the earlier ministrations; John forced himself to look away so he could open the box and retrieve a latex glove and bottle of lube without his hands shaking.

Sherlock watched everything avidly, breathing through his nose in quick bursts. When John snapped the glove on and smeared all four fingers with lube, his eyes widened. Seeing him shift in anticipation, Lestrade purred, “Can’t wait for it, can you? Christ, how did you hold out for so long?”

Sherlock’s only reply was a muffled moan. His hips canted upward, silently begging for more attention. His cock lay against his tight belly, its entire length coated with Lestrade’s saliva.

“Beautiful,” Mycroft murmured.

John agreed completely. With Sherlock held firmly in place and all but begging for more, he massaged lube into his flatmate’s sphincter muscle, which was still relaxed from the earlier rimming. When his gloved finger slid inside, Sherlock cried out around the scarf and trembled all over.

“Your prostate is so swollen,” John said as he massaged the almond-sized gland. The detective squealed and nearly lifted his entire lower body off the seat. “When did you last get off? More than a week ago?”

Sherlock nodded shakily.

“More than two weeks?”

Another nod.

“Fuck.” Lestrade shook his head. “No wonder you’re a sour-tempered berk most of the time.”

“Time for a medical intervention then. Got a good grip on him, Greg?”

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere.”

After grasping the base of Sherlock’s erection with his other hand, John slid another finger inside. “Definitely too swollen,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?”

When the massage resumed Sherlock tossed his head back and forth, making sounds that could have been either protests or pleas. His toes curled and his thigh muscles shook. Lestrade lowered his lips to that tightly corded neck and began sucking a bruise onto the skin.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he rumbled.

John could see that his flatmate was desperate to come, and tried not to grin as he tightened his hold on Sherlock’s shaft. The pressure wouldn’t hurt, but it would stave off orgasm.

“Quite the buildup you’ve got here.” He nodded down at the milky stream that dripped onto Sherlock’s belly. “We might have to do this for hours, I’m afraid.”

The detective’s eyes flew open.

“Now, John,” Mycroft chided. “I rather doubt that he could last for hours.” A pause. “Nor could we wait just as long, and I am normally a patient man.”

We. The word made John wonder again what Mycroft’s role would be in all of this. He hadn’t touched Sherlock intimately except to kiss his neck, but it was a gesture that threatened volumes, like a violent river current beneath a layer of ice. John tried to imagine what would happen when the surface cracked.

Would Sherlock be able to walk again afterward?

Would John or Lestrade?

As John carefully guided a third finger into that clutching hole, another question came to the fore.

_Virginity is like a balloon: one prick and it’s gone. So which of us will do the actual pricking here?_


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was taking four fingers easily now. After a few more minutes of stroking and stretching, John reluctantly slid his hand out of that snug, furnace-hot body and pulled off the glove with a wet snap that sounded alarmingly loud in the thickening air. Sherlock relaxed against the chair cushions and scanned everyone’s faces eagerly, trying to deduce what was going to happen next. Sweat blanketed his face and chest, pressing his dark curls against his cheekbones and glossing his well-developed pectorals.  

As he turned back toward the box, John’s cock brushed against his thigh, spotting the denim with pre-ejaculate.  He bit his lip at the pleasure that shivered through his body, wondering how much longer he could hold out. Lestrade was also restive, shifting about and in general acting like a racehorse waiting for the go signal. Only Mycroft remained outwardly composed, although his atypically glazed stare signalled an inner unravelling.

Before the detective, who was now as greedy for penetration as he normally was for praise, could make any complaining noises, John took out a vibrator shaped like a butt plug. It was Sarah’s favourite anal toy, with its multiple speed settings and ribbed surface.

Lestrade grinned wolfishly. “See that, Sherlock? It’s going to make you as mad as you make my entire department.”

After generously lubricating the toy, John pushed it into Sherlock’s hole, working it in carefully. Lestrade leaned over to watch, entranced. Sherlock grimaced as his sphincter stretched around the widest point, but once the entire thing was inside, he relaxed and rolled his head against the chair back, eyes half-closed.

“Don’t drift away on us,” John said just before he pressed the button on the vibrator’s handle.

A light buzzing noise tickled the air. Sherlock jerked and began twisting in Lestrade’s grip. He thrust his slim hips back and forth, sliding the toy’s rumbling tip back and forth across his prostate. The handcuffs would later leave bruises on his wrists, and the soft skin behind his knees would bear finger marks from Lestrade’s restraining hold for days afterward. John kept a firm grip on his cock to prevent orgasm; although he wasn’t coherent enough to properly protest, Sherlock’s stare expressed his eager frustration.

“Impatience isn’t a virtue,” John told him. “Much as we all want to fuck you right now, you have to be properly prepared first.” Just to be perverse, he gave Sherlock’s erection a long, _perfect_ stroke that triggered a desperate keening. “Just a taste of what’s to come- pun intended.”

Mycroft stood so suddenly that everyone, even Sherlock, was startled. He removed his overcoat, strode over to his brother, and lowered the gag.

“M-mycroft,” the younger Holmes stuttered, “it’s so much....”

“And you’re taking it so well, brother dear.” Mycroft ran his thumb along Sherlock’s wet lower lip. With his other hand, he undid his zipper and extracted his generously-sized cock. “Open your mouth.”

John and Lestrade stared at each other, mouths agape. Sherlock licked his lips and started to obey, but a shift of his hips drove the vibrator across his prostate again. He clenched his teeth and whimpered, “Oh God....”

“John,” Mycroft said without breaking eye contact with his brother, “would you be so kind as to turn that device off, but leave it in place?”

“Um, sure.” John pressed the toy’s button a second time and sat back on his heels. He almost forgot that he was still holding Sherlock’s cock in his fist; only a warm trickle of fluid over his knuckles reminded him.

Mycroft shifted his hand from Sherlock’s lip to the back of his head and pulled him forward. When Lestrade released the younger man’s legs and stood back, expression blank with awe, Sherlock struggled into a proper sitting position and opened his mouth wide enough for his brother’s cock to slip in.

“Jesus,” John breathed. His fingers fell away from his flatmate’s erection and landed on his own. He and Lestrade stroked themselves as they watched the unfolding action.

Mycroft showed his brother no mercy. He grasped those dark curls and pulled Sherlock’s head forward, ignoring the coughing and gagging. When he was fully seated he threw his head back, a blissful smile playing on his lips.

“Even better than I imagined it would be,” he sighed before his hips began to move.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock glanced up at him with traces of his usual defiance: John noticed it and realised that the battle of wills between the Holmes brothers was about to take on an X-rated dimension, and that he and Lestrade had front-row seats to the spectacle. He rose shakily, staggered over to the sofa, and sat down to watch.

Lestrade joined him. “I’d say pinch me, but if this is a dream, I really don’t want to wake up.”

Mycroft, naturally, didn’t miss Sherlock’s unspoken challenge. “Just do your best,” he said, sounding deceptively mild for a man with his cock down someone’s throat. “You’re so new to this, I don’t expect you to get it right the first time.”

Scowling, Sherlock opened his mouth even wider. Mycroft made a few punishing thrusts that the younger Holmes endured without struggling, having quickly mastered his gag reflex. That must have upped the ante, for Mycroft soon pulled out and rolled his eyes. His cock, however, remained fiercely hard.

“Is this your way of telling me I need exercise, little brother? Making me do all the work?”

Sherlock swallowed. “Not my fault you can’t even wipe your own arse without breaking into a sweat.”

Mycroft tutted. “You always were fond of insults to camouflage your own ineptitude.”

Once again Sherlock threw his brother a challenging glare. “I _have_ seen the movies on John’s laptop,” he griped before shuffling closer to the edge of the chair. The motion caused the vibrator to wriggle inside him; after catching his breath at the resulting spike of pleasure, Sherlock actively drew his brother’s cock into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed and he began to slide up and down the shaft, sliding his tongue around the head on the backward thrust.

“Much better,” the elder Holmes conceded. His long fingers resumed their tight grip on Sherlock’s sex-mussed hair. He started fucking his brother’s mouth again, but this time Sherlock responded by tightening his lips and rumbling deep in his throat. Mycroft actually gasped as the vibrations drummed his orgasm to the fore.

“Looks like he _did_ watch the movies on my laptop,” John said hoarsely. Lestrade, who was still fondling himself,  responded by grasping John’s cock with his free hand and giving synchronised handjobs.

Sherlock was relishing his control over his brother’s pleasure, if his smug expression was any indication. Mycroft, breathing heavily, pulled out with a wet pop and shoved him, forcing him partly onto his back.

“Tired already? You need to-” Sherlock’s voice escalated into a yelp when Mycroft slid the vibrator from his arse, tossed it to the carpet, and knelt in front of the chair. John and Lestrade paused in their snogging, wondering breathlessly what the elder Holmes intended to do next. They got their answer when he lowered his trousers and pants to mid-thigh before spreading Sherlock’s knees wide and raising them toward the younger man’s chest.

“Did you ever think it would be anyone else, brother?” Mycroft purred before shoving his erection all the way inside Sherlock’s slick and wet passage.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock arched his back and howled at the abrupt intrusion. “That fucking hurt!” he seethed. His head was pressed against the back of the chair, messing his curls into a violent tangle. But even while he glared, his thighs tightened around his brother’s waist and pleasure darkened his eyes.

“Always so dramatic.” Mycroft rotated his hips, making Sherlock moan behind clenched teeth. “But now it’s over, and we can really begin.”

Sherlock’s cock had softened slightly due to the brief burst of pain, but when Mycroft gave a few tentative thrusts, striking his prostate every time, the flaccidity disappeared. “Get on with it then,” he grunted, raising himself onto his elbows.

Mycroft’s response was to slam into him so hard that he fell back onto the cushion. Sherlock grunted at the impact and crossed his ankles over his brother’s lower back. “Again. Do that again!” he pleaded.

John bit his knuckles and shuddered as pre-orgasm tremors shivered through his cock. “Slower, Greg, just a bit.”

“Sorry, mate. Fuck, is this really happening?”

Mycroft grasped his brother around the waist. Then, with surprising strength for someone who supposedly loathed physical exercise, he stood up, carrying Sherlock with him, and sat heavily in the chair, positioning his brother on his lap.

Sherlock’s white flesh contrasted obscenely with Mycroft’s dark pinstriped suit. The sight of his tight buttocks pressed against his brother’s upper thighs, a thick cock feeding into his reddened hole, nearly made John and Lestrade come all over themselves.

“Fuck.” Sherlock shifted, grimacing. “Your prick needs to go on a diet like the rest of you.”

Mycroft licked the first two fingers of his right hand. “I appear to be too much for you. My apologies.” But his expression was far from contrite. The elder Holmes was positively gloating as he reached down and massaged Sherlock’s rim, which was stretched tight. “You poor thing, you _are_ in perilous circumstances, aren’t you?”

Sherlock opened his mouth, his frustrated expression warning that an insult was imminent. Mycroft stopped massaging him enough to give a hard upward thrust, knocking him several inches in the air. The younger man landed hard, mouth still open but now incapable of coherent speech.

The sight of his best friend writhing wantonly on such a thick cock was too much for John, who slid out of Lestrade’s grasp and sank to his knees. He crawled over to the chair, leaned forward, and licked a wet stripe along the site where the brothers’ bodies connected, tasting hot cock and quivering rim simultaneously.

Mycroft sighed and withdrew his fingers. Grasping Sherlock’s buttocks, he raised his brother a few inches, baring more of his shaft to John’s ministrations. “So thoughtful, John. Making it good for all of us.”

The words “all of us” shook Lestrade out of his trance. The DI surged off the sofa, fell to his knees beside the chair, and wrapped his lips around Sherlock’s prick. He may not have been the one to deflower Sherlock, but tasting the detective’s first fuck-induced release was a privilege almost as hot.

Sherlock cried out and struggled against the handcuffs. “More! Harder!” he yelled. He wasn’t addressing anyone in particular, but all his tormentors amplified their efforts. Mycroft pounded up and into him, using more energy than he normally expended in a week. John’s tongue movements became more aggressive, loosening Sherlock’s opening further and allowing Mycroft to use his brother more ruthlessly. Lestrade bobbed his head at lightning speed, covering Sherlock’s sticky length from base to tip. Both he and John were wanking furiously, knowing that their releases would coat Mrs. Hudson’s newly cleaned rug but not giving a shit.

“You look divine with me inside you.” Mycroft actually sounded breathless as he touched his brother’s cheek. His sleek auburn hair had been loosened by exertion and now fell across his forehead. “But then again, you glow when _anything’s_ inside you. Fingers, toys, a tongue. I believe we have you hooked.”

Sherlock shuddered. John felt his opening clench hard around Mycroft’s cock, blindly seeking the rough stimulation which would vault him closer to orgasm.

Lestrade pulled off of Sherlock’s erection. “I’d like to see him stuffed with more. John and I, for instance. At the same time.”

“Oh God, yes,” John threw in, pausing in his task long enough to give one meaty buttock a greedy bite. Then he and Lestrade dove back in.

Sherlock began shaking in earnest, senses crackling in the fierce heat that had started in his cock and now blossomed throughout his body. As he rushed toward his first non-virginal orgasm he begged, “More!” It was an odd plea, considering that he was being licked, sucked, and fucked on all fronts, but they gave it to him, and continued to give it to him, until he was coming down Lestrade’s throat with more force  than he’d ever accomplished during masturbation.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Sherlock’s orgasm ignited a chain reaction. Mycroft, his regal face awash in sweat, clenched his teeth and sent load after load of hot semen into his brother’s body. Lestrade and John, their wrists working at lightspeed, followed suit, spraying all over the chair and carpet. They even got a little bit on each other but neither complained, then or ever.

When he finally stopped convulsing, Sherlock slumped against his brother. Traces of semen leaked from his loosened hole, but John lapped it up delicately, relishing how his best friend’s over-sensitized flesh fluttered beneath his tongue.

Lestrade crouched back on his heels, licking his lips and wiping the now-damp hair from his forehead. “Did all that just happen?”

It was a rhetorical comment, but Sherlock grumbled lazily, “I’m sure there’s evidence everywhere if you’re doubting your sanity.”

“Oi! Not nice to be a berk to someone who just had your dick in their mouth.” John slapped the other man's rear half-heartedly.

“Yeah, Sherlock,” Lestrade said as he unlocked and removed the handcuffs. “You’re supposed to be a polite human being now that you’ve finally been laid.”

Sherlock sat up slowly, shifting his weight from one knee to the other. “I just had sex, Lestrade, not a lobotomy.” Gazing down at his brother, he added, “You definitely need to exercise more. We’ve only gone one round and you’re already on the verge of a heart attack.”

John’s heart rate, which had finally calmed, began to race again. “Only gone one round?”

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, his trademark cheeky grin in place. “I’m presuming that we’re going to do it again once you’ve all caught your breath?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.” Mycroft pushed his hair out of his eyes. “We’re not teenagers any more.”

“So? Neither am I.”

“Yeah, well, you’re making up for lost time.” Although temporarily drained, John couldn’t resist admiring Sherlock’s sweat-glossed form, which shone like alabaster in the dim light. “Christ, if you’re still gagging for it after what we put you through, nothing short of a prison block will be able to satisfy you.”

Sherlock lit up. He looked down at Mycroft again. “I presume you can arrange that?”

The elder Holmes shook his head. “I really should. It might teach you to not be so impetuous.”

Slowly and carefully, Sherlock lifted himself off of his brother and stood, ignoring the lube and semen that trickled down his thighs. He rotated his shoulders and stretched his arms, apparently taking a mental inventory of everything.

“I quite enjoyed that,” he said to no one in particular. “The adrenaline rush was marvellous and the orgasm more satisfying than anything I have ever achieved on my own. I must also congratulate you all on your manhandling techniques: I found them thoroughly arousing. I shall go to my room and wait until you’ve all rejuvenated enough to continue.  When that happens, send a text.”

He bent over, took his phone from his discarded trousers, and sauntered off. Except for his rather distracting nudity, he was the same old Sherlock: cool, arrogant, and completely dismissive of others’ shortcomings.

When he was gone, Mycroft wiped his now-soft penis clean with a handkerchief, zipped up, and stood. Like his brother, he was back in character with a swiftness that dazed John and Lestrade.

“I want to thank you, gentlemen,” he said as he retrieved his umbrella and buttoned his overcoat. “As you’ve no doubt deduced, Sherlock has been sexually ripe for awhile and just needed the right blend of circumstances to let me pluck him. He rebuffed my previous attempts at seduction, so you both have my gratitude. Perhaps we shall all do this again soon?”

Without waiting for an answer, he strolled out of the flat, swinging the umbrella and whistling.

John and Lestrade stared at each other with identical gobsmacked expressions.

“Let me run through what I _think_ just happened, John.” The DI sat slowly on the sofa. “We jumped on Sherlock Holmes, sucked him off and ate his arse and watched him get fucked by his brother.”

John sat beside him. “Don’t forget the vibrator shoved up his arse.”

“Fuck, yeah.” Lestrade licked his lips. “And now he’s in his room, gagging for more.”

John’s mobile beeped. He picked it up, read the message, and shook his head.

“Impatient as ever.” He held the phone out. “Read this.”

Lestrade leaned in close.

_Bored. And also, I believe, horny. SH_

“Christ, John. Does he think we run on batteries? I came so bloody hard my balls are transparent.”

“Same here. But-” John looked down at the box of sex toys on the coffee table. “There are ways of fucking someone without even taking your trousers off.”

Lestrade followed his gaze. A smile crawled slowly across his face. “I like the way you think. Got enough gear in there to keep him happy until we’re ready for active duty?”

John took out a double-ended dildo and wagged it teasingly. “First one to reach him gets to go on the other end of this.”

Lestrade’s dark eyes lit up with mischief and lust. “You’re on.”


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you all begged for a continuation of this story, so here it is :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Beta:** chasingriver

Lestrade won the race to get to Sherlock, but John didn’t find second place so bad. Not when it involved reclining on Sherlock’s bed, stroking his best friend’s cock while Lestrade, who was at one end of the large double-ended dildo, slowly fed the other end into the detective’s still-sensitive hole.

Sherlock was lying on his side, facing John, one long leg slung across the doctor’s hip. He panted hotly against John’s lips while inch after slippery inch slid into his body. It was an awkward position for fucking: Lestrade had to lie with his chest pressed to Sherlock’s back and one leg positioned across both of the other men, guiding  and steadying the dildo shaft with one hand. But neither the DI nor the detective complained, especially since each roll of one man’s hips drove the dildo deeper into the other.

“That looks incredible,” John murmured as he reached down to palm Sherlock’s balls.

“Very astute observation,” the younger Holmes said throatily. “It also feels quite mind blowing. Although I do wish you’d go faster, Lestrade.”

Lestrade seized a handful of Sherlock’s curls and pulled his head back. “Ever hear of asking nicely?”

Sherlock shivered as the slight pain in his scalp played havoc with his sensitivity levels. He squirmed back against the older man, making them both groan and clench around the toy. John released his friend’s stiff cock and slid forward, until his revived erection -and Sherlock’s- were pressed snugly between their bellies.

“He just wants more, Greg,” he said as he indulged in some delicious frottage. Sherlock whimpered at the additional stimulation. “I say we give it to him.”

“Think he deserves it?”

“No. That’s why he’s going to work for it.”

Sherlock’s eyes opened. “This banter is distracting,” he huffed. “Can we get back to the- OW!”

Lestrade yanked his hair again. “I reckon you just lost your right to ask for what you want,” he said. Reaching back, he grabbed his discarded, semen-stained boxers and stuffed them into the younger man’s mouth.

Unlike last time, Sherlock’s hands were not restrained, so he could have pulled out the makeshift gag or struggled free. He did neither. Instead, Sherlock’s lids fluttered and a muted sigh escaped his stretched lips. After using his leg to draw John closer, he relaxed against the blankets and gave slow, tentative pushes against the dildo.

“See, you can be agreeable if you want to,” Lestrade said. He was trying to sound firm, but it was difficult when Sherlock’s writhing caused the silicone in his own arse to nudge his prostate. “I reckon we’ve solved the mystery of handling this one, John. Shut him up and fill him up.”

“Although not necessarily in that order.” John slid his damp hand between their bodies. His fingers wrapped around both their dicks and started stroking. No need for lube to ease the way: both of them were so wet with pre-ejaculate that he lost his grip a couple of times. “Greg, how much longer before your battery is recharged?”

A raspy chuckle. “I’ll be fully loaded any minute now.”

Grinning evilly, John used his free hand to reach behind his flatmate’s balls and lightly trace the slippery rim of his arsehole. Sherlock caught his breath and lifted his thigh higher in silent encouragement.

“You’re always complaining about being bored,” John told him, gathering excess lube onto his fingers as he massaged the other man’s hole. “So we’re going to run some experiments of our own. Find out what it takes to keep you _stimulated_.”

The moment he detected a slight relaxing of the sphincter muscle, John inserted a slick finger inside, right next to the dildo. At the same time, his tugging on both their cocks became firmer. Sherlock moaned and dug his fingers into John’s bicep.

“How about it? Want to have a go at taking both of us? Broaden your horizons a bit?”

Sherlock nodded so eagerly it was almost comical. Then John slipped another finger in alongside the dildo and worked on stretching his best friend even more. When Sherlock arched his back and cried out, the doctor paused.

“Is this too much? You want me to go slower?”

The detective nodded, looking embarrassed. Lestrade ran a soothing hand down his flank and John kissed his sweaty shoulder.

“It’s fine. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

They went slowly, applying distractions that soon had Sherlock moaning without restraint: Lestrade sucked a bruise into the white skin of his neck while John’s thumb massaged the sweet spot under his cockhead. Eventually John worked all four fingers inside and slid them around the toy’s circumference, noting with barely-suppressed excitement that Sherlock was now actively fucking himself on everything he was being given.

“You want to try now?” he asked.

Sherlock paused in mid-motion to nod jerkily. His pupils were huge and he was breathing in quick, excited bursts.

Lestrade, who’d been clutching his cock at the base to avoid losing control and spraying Sherlock’s back, lit up like he’d just received a bonus. “Hang on.” He reached down, carefully extracted the toy from both their bodies, and tossed it off the bed. “There. Let’s do this.”

The two men briefly released Sherlock, who whined at suddenly finding himself empty. The mattress springs creaked, fingers tore eagerly at condom wrappers, and lubricated latex slid smoothly across aching erections. Then John rolled onto his back, pulling Sherlock on top of him.

“Ready for both of us to fuck you so hard you’ll feel it in the back of your throat?” he smirked.

Sherlock pulled the crumpled boxers out of his mouth. “Extremely so,” he said, voice ragged from his earlier screams. He struggled onto his knees, reached back, and grabbed John’s erection to steady it. “I believe I know how this is done.”

Lestrade, who was adding a final coating of lube to his latex-covered shaft, stared at him. “You do?”

“John’s laptop,” Sherlock said simply. Then he sat down slowly on the cock in his fist, its progress marked by the ecstatic expression that unfolded on his face. When his arse finally rested atop John’s thighs, he ground his hips, seeking prostate stimulation. Precome swayed from the tip of his bobbing erection.

Lestrade was now ready. He knelt behind Sherlock, straddling John’s legs, and planted one hand between the younger man’s shoulder blades. “Bend over,” he ordered.

Sherlock complied, pressing his chest against John’s. The doctor, who could hardly believe that he was finally _inside_ the man he’d been craving for so long, wrapped his arms around that slim body and held tight. Their hearts, now inches apart, thudded in near-perfect unison.

“You,” John whispered against the sweaty curls brushing his lips, “are fucking incredible.”

Sherlock grinned at the praise and started to reply, but then Lestrade was pushing in alongside John, making everything exquisitely tight once again. The younger Holmes bit his lip and stuttered, “H-hold still. Just for a moment.”

Both John and Lestrade stilled their hips and waited, running their palms over Sherlock’s back and sides. A few minutes later, Sherlock started rocking, trying to adjust to the extra stretch. His eyes were closed and his lower lip rested between his teeth, as if he were concentrating on a chemical formula or puzzling piece of evidence. Finally he smiled and pushed back.

“Give me the rest of your prick, Lestrade,” he directed. “I can take it.”

“My pleasure,” the DI replied, and with one careful push inside, it was indeed.

Sherlock shuddered. “Oh... _oh_.” For once he appeared to be at a loss for words. Then he braced his hands against the mattress, lifted his upper body, and started riding the two cocks that opened him wide and still made him ache for more.

Now it was John and Lestrade’s turn to lose coherency. Sherlock’s body gripped them like a vise, squeezing them together with a perfect pressure that not even their own fists could achieve. As the younger Holmes alternately clenched and relaxed, John gasped, “Christ!” and Lestrade’s fingers left bruises on Sherlock’s hips.

The doctor found his voice first. “How does it feel, Sherlock?” he panted as his hips began to move. His grasping fingers found Sherlock’s erection again. As he stroked, he kept talking. “How does it feel to be caught between us and be stretched and fucked so much? You love it, don’t you? You’re going to want this all the time.”

“Fine by me if he does,” Lestrade breathed.

Sherlock’s only response was “Just fuck me!”

They began fucking him in earnest, filling the already-thick bedroom air with grunts, breathless groans, and the squeal of overworked mattress springs. Sherlock rode them like a thing possessed, lost in waves of pure pleasure as he chased the endorphin high. He continued to open around them, taking every inch they stuffed into his expanded hole and craving more as orgasm approached.

“More!!” he kept pleading, even though he was so full and they were in so deep that he couldn’t tell whether the blood rushing in his ears was his alone or all of theirs combined.

“More?” John tried to laugh as he stroked Sherlock’s prick harder, but he was so close to coming that he could only huff. “You want the dildo in there too??”

“Yes! No! I don’t know!” Sherlock ground his arse against their cocks like he couldn’t bear to let go. His hands moved from the mattress to John’s biceps and held tight. “ _Please_ , just a little bit more, it’s all I-”

His rambling and begging exploded into a full-fledged scream when Lestrade worked two fingers in next to their pistoning cocks. That extra sliver of pain was all it took: Sherlock came hard and fast, his release spraying all over John’s face and chest. The sight of him convulsing in raw pleasure broke what little restraint John and Lestrade had left and triggered their own orgasms.

Both men felt gloriously filthy as they shot load after load deep into the man they’d once deemed untouchable. Sherlock’s greedy insides took it all and milked them for more, massaging their softening cocks with residue from their own releases.The outer world receded, substituted by an afterglow that left them warm, sleepy, and sated.

Lestrade pulled out first. After binning the condom, he crawled up the mattress on his hands and knees and collapsed beside John. “Wow,” was all he could say.

“Pretty much,” John agreed drowsily. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, who was now lying still with his face buried in the crook of John’s neck. “You still with us?”

“You’re holding me and your cock is still up my arse, so obviously I am.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes. John sighed before surveying the room. The bed was a mess, the air was ripe with the smell of sweat and semen, and Mrs. Hudson had likely heard everything, but he just wanted to lie there awhile longer. Showers, laundry, and apologies could come later.

Unless more sex intervened.

With Sherlock finally deflowered, that was a distinct possibility.

  
  
  
  



End file.
